Sarge's Origins
by UnseenBubby 117
Summary: The gruff Southern leader of the Red Team wasn't always a leader, nor Red. A younger Sarge was once an ODST, and he and his shotgun had many adventures before Blood Gulch.


"What's your name?" asked the recruiter.

"S. Sarge," replied the young man in a southern accent.

"Your name is…Sarge?" said the recruiter, raising his eyebrows.

"Damn right it is, I've had that name for the past 16 years, sir," said Sarge confidently.

"Okay…Sarge," said the recruiter, writing his name down. "Any reason you want to join the Marines?"

"It's my duty, sir! Those Insurrectionist bastards have to answer for their crimes!" answered Sarge excitedly.

"Excellent, we need more patriots like you. The UNSC will be proud to have another soldier as eager as you. Come with me," said the recruiter. "We need to fill out more information before you get shipped to Reach for basic training." A young Sarge followed excitedly.

xXx

Private Sarge ran directly behind his drill instructor for the entire 5 mile run. It was week two of basic training, and Sarge had yet to break down. His eagerness and enthusiasm kept the other troops excited with him, and he showed natural leadership. When the run finally concluded in front of their barracks, Sarge immediately snapped to attention, hardly out of breath.

"DROP AND GIVE ME FIFTY!" shouted the drill instructor.

Sarge immediately started his fifty push-ups. Looking up at his instructor, his chest hitting the wet ground, and his southern voice calling out each repetition mad his heart swell. He loved the military, and all the sweat that came with it.

xXx

Private Sarge, now E-2, disembarked the Pelican on his first real op against the Insurrection. He tightly gripped his Assault Rifle and sprinted to the first plot of cover he found. He crouched behind hit, bullets whizzing above his head. He saw a member of his squad get shot down right next to him. He stood back up and fired back. The thrill, the adrenaline, the smell of blood and gunpowder overwhelmed his senses. He threw a grenade behind the enemy positions. It was all too much.

He put his rifle on his back and pulled out a shotgun. A rebel raced over to him with a knife. _What a dumb move, jackass_ he thought as he fired the shotgun right into the Insurrectionist. He vaulted over his cover, sprinted to the enemy placements, and cleared it of the rebel troops.

Sarge had never felt more alive.

Once enemy placements were no longer functioning, he quickly shouted out to his Lieutenant, "Station clear, LT, ready to move forward!"

"Solid copy. Alpha company, advance!" called out Sarge's officer.

_I wish I could be an officer someday_ thought Sarge as he moved forward.

xXx

The mission was a complete success.

Sarge's platoon had quickly cleared the small oil refinery town that was in control of the Insurrectionists. The 17-year-old southerner had scored over two dozen kills alone.

His Lieutenant approached the Private. "Private Sarge, well done today. You quickly proved yourself as a competent soldier and a good leader. I'm promoting you to Lance Corporal. Keep this up, and I'll recommend you for ODST training," said the officer.

Sarge saluted. "Sir! Thank you, sir!" he said. The Lieutenant cut his salute and went over to his superiors to receive new orders.

xXx

Sergeant Sarge was hoofing it once again on Reach. This time, after two successful campaigns, Sarge was learning how to be an ODST. It was a dream of his ever since his Lieutenant mentioned to him a year ago. His enthusiasm was never lost. He kept his men excited and eager while he was training. This had an obvious impression on the instructors.

After a fifty mile trek into the mountains of Reach, a visitor went over to inspect the troops. It was Sergeant Major Avery Johnson! Sarge couldn't believe his hero was here.

"All right, listen up! This company has shown tremendous work over the past six weeks," said the Sergeant Major. "You all know your weapons, your armor, and your pods. That's good. But next week starts the worst days in your miserable lives! You will be learning how to drop feet first into hell! You're going to learn why we call them 'Helljumpers!' I guarantee that at least all of you will shit your pants! Now fall in for mess! Move like you've got a purpose!'

Sarge was ecstatic! He met Sergeant Major Johnson and he was going to drop next week! He couldn't sleep that night or the next. Too much excitement.

xXx

Sarge, in full ODST gear, sat motionless in his pod. All of that eagerness was replaced with anxiety once he sat down in his pod, which was in orbit around Reach. They were being dropped into territory that they had never been in before and they had to rendezvous back at their barracks: a solid 100 miles from their drop zone. They hadn't enough food to last the journey.

The light started flashing, and suddenly Sarge's pod dropped to Reach's surface. He gripped the controls tightly, fear overwhelming him. He felt that he pissed his pants. The shaking was unbearable.

"Mark!" shouted their instructor. Sarge barely registered the command, but he knew to pull the triggers on the joysticks, causing the parachutes to deploy. The sudden upward pull startled Sarge severely, but he recovered.

"Mark!" shouted the instructor again. Sarge pressed another button, causing the parachute to eject, accelerating the pod. Sarge's pod slammed into the forest, 100 yards away from the nearest squadmate.

xXx

Sarge, tired and exhausted, emerged from the woods largely unscathed. He walked with rest of his company, approaching their barracks utterly exhausted. He had killed three moa with his shotgun alone. Cleaning them had not been very fun.

xXx

Sarge, now a Staff Sergeant, dropped once more, but this time on a legitimate operation. He was used to the shaking pod, but he still hated every bit of it.

The worst part about dropping into hell was the distance. He hated not being able to see his enemies' faces when Sarge was leading a charge with his shotgun. Now he had to suffice with them not knowing that he was coming. It pissed the now-gruff southerner beyond any belief.

xXx

His platoon was surrounded. They had dug foxholes so the Insurrectionists wouldn't find them, but they found themselves cold and itching for a fight.

"Hey, Sarge," whispered another ODST. "Can you build a heater?"

"A what?" asked Sarge in disbelief.

"A heater!" the ODST whispered as loud as he dared. "Because it is too fucking cold here."

"Hell no, Corporal. We don't want to give the enemy our position away. They're probably using thermal scans to find us."

"But it's so fucking cold!"

"I don't give a damn, warm your own damn self."

xXx

Sarge did build a heater though. The Insurrectionists, aborting their mission to find the Helljumpers, left them alone. So the ODSTs built a small camp. Sarge, in all of his mechanical prowess, assembled a heater from parts from their pods. It kept them warm without using smoke to alert the rebels of their positions.

xXx

Tenth drop into hell. Tenth time he was shaking violently in the claustrophobic pod. Tenth time his trigger finger itched for a pull of the shotgun.

Suddenly, an explosion rocked Sarge's pod. He couldn't stabilize his course. It veered off too far and crashed in the middle of nowhere. Sarge, the gruff southerner, passed out.

xXx

Sarge woke up in hospital bed. Everywhere were red flags and banners.

"What in Sam's Hell is going on?" he moaned out.

A nurse walked in. "Morning, Sergeant," she said. That op against the Blues was a failure. You'll have chance at retribution later."

Sarge put his hand on his head. "Blues? We were fighting…rebels," he groaned.

"You must have things confused, Sarge. You were fighting Blues. Your Red teammates pulled you out and helped you. You're very lucky."

"Reds? Blues? What the hell are you talking about? "

"The civil war? Between Reds and Blues? You are proud Red commander, Sarge," said the nurse reassuringly.

"Oh…yeah…that must be it. What a crazy dream I had…" said Sarge, clutching his head.

xXx

Sarge rode the Pelican with his new soldier, a man named Dick Simmons. He wore some maroon armor, similar to Sarge's red armor.

"It's an honor to meet you, sir," said Simmons, reaching out his arm.

Sarge looked at him curiously, but shook Simmons' hand. "Good to meet you to, Simmons."

"Do you know where we're going, Sarge?" asked Simmons.

"Someplace they called 'Blood Gulch Outpost 1'" answered Sarge.

"Ah, yes. I hope the base has some computers there," said Simmons excitedly.

"I just want to kill some dirty Blues," said Sarge.

Soon, the Pelican landed into a desolate canyon. Sarge and Simmons disembarked, noticing the two bases in the canyon.

"This place must have some immense tactical advantage," noted Sarge. "We have to stop the Blues from having it!"

"Great idea, Sarge! You always have such great ideas!" said Simmons happily.

"Yeah…I do," said Sarge. "Let's see the new base!"

Sarge and Simmons walked into the base, completely unaware that this war between the Reds and the Blues was a complete lie.


End file.
